


Bellow, Brandish, Bleed

by surprisepink



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bittersweet Ending, Blood Kink, Bottom Felix Hugo Fraldarius, But like a bratty dom bottom, FE3H Kinkmeme, Hand Jobs, M/M, Overstimulation, Prompt Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Some Degradation, Spit As Lube, Unresolved Romantic Tension, idk anything about swords sorry felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisepink/pseuds/surprisepink
Summary: But kisses, even the messiest and most painful, are for lovers. The boar does notlove, and so Felix does not love him, though he would look picturesque with his own blood dripping down his chin.There's nothing romantic about it, until there is.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Bellow, Brandish, Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time this was a kink meme prompt for Dimitri and Felix having a sexual relationship and Felix being in denial of its significance because they hadn't kissed. Now it's this. You can find the original fill [here](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2394696#cmt2394696). The original fill is a bit softer, though it carries most of the same warnings to a lesser degree. Enjoy?

Felix’s blood runs hot with the thrill of combat even as the battle draws to a close. It had been an ultimately meaningless conflict, some clash against bandits who had been threatening the territory of lord something-or-other. One that the professor said would be good experience for their class. But important or not, Felix feels most alive after a victory. It’s not that he enjoys the slaughter, per se, but he certainly enjoys _winning_.

He sees the boar sitting under a nearby tree, relaxing after the slaughter. The sight of him stirs the same complicated feelings it always does: anger, frustration. And something more.

Dimitri had held back in the battle, as he is inclined to do. Their enemies had been unimpressive, and with his brute strength the boar might have vanquished them in mere moments, yet he had allowed his classmates their share of kills. He’d maintained his facade of docility, of wanting to give the other army a fighting chance.

It’s disgusting, the way the boar lies to them all, and Felix is slowly being driven mad by it. When he displays his true nature, it’s easy to hate Dimitri, but it becomes more of a challenge when he hides it. Felix can’t let himself forget who the boar really is—a feral dog that refuses to be tamed, a creature on the prowl, searching for a fresh kill—even if he wants him to.

Felix’s heart is still thumping in his chest as he gazes at Dimitri, chatting away with Mercedes as she bandages his wounds. She’s saying something between healing spells about how much he scared her at first, how she thought _all_ of the blood was his—and indeed, Dimitri has an impressive amount of it splattered across his clothes.

It suits him, Felix thinks. A wild animal covered in blood, unexpectedly beautiful in its congruence.

He watches until Mercedes dismisses herself. Dimitri’s wounds have been addressed but a deep crimson still decorates his chest, his cheek, his hair. The professor is busy studying a map and talking to themself, evidently in no hurry to move on, so Felix—bored, not interested—unceremoniously sits on the ground a few paces away from him.

Felix’s heart inexplicably skips a beat when Dimitri notices him and turns to offer a polite smile, one that Felix willfully ignores in favor of polishing his sword with a greater vigor than is strictly necessary. If he didn’t know any better, the moment would seem tender, a small signal of reassurance between old friends after a trial on the battlefield. He does, of course, know better. Knows that any attempt at comfort from the boar is merely one way he shrouds his true self.

Dimitri watches him silently, with his knees pulled to his chest and his head resting lightly on them. His expression is relaxed, almost docile. The scene is oddly reminiscent of their time as children, when they would play knight and king together with wooden swords. The way Dimitri looks at him now is the way Felix looked at him then, and there’s something nostalgic about that.

The blood is new, of course. The piglet prince feared even getting too dirty during their childhood games.

For reasons he’ll take to his grave, Felix reaches out, runs his thumb across Dimitri’s cheek. He’s fascinated by the image: a wild animal with the blood of a fresh kill decorating his face, now staring at Felix like a pup hoping to please his master. He supposes he meant to wipe some of it up, but does the opposite: now it’s spread across the skin, like paint on a canvas.

The blood against Felix’s bare skin is warm, but Dimitri’s cheek is warmer still, and Felix idly realizes that he’s blushing. He wants to ask why; he doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

Felix has always had a vivid imagination, a valuable skill for a soldier. He’s able to envision each battle in great detail before it happens: the calculated risks he will take, his victories, even the moments he might narrowly escape death.

Now, he imagines moving closer to Dimitri. Lying his hand on Dimitri’s. Putting his other hand back on his cheek and rubbing the blood around, decorating Dimitri’s skin with the vivid red. Decorating Dimitri’s lips, too.

And then—decorating Dimitri’s lips with his own.

He doesn’t, of course. Why would he? Why would he even _consider_ it?

After the fact, he’ll claim that Dimitri initiated it, their—whatever they have. He’s always always been able to bring something out in him that nobody else does. Felix hates that, but he’ll acknowledge it.

“Boar prince,” he says, running his fingers ever-so-slowly down Dimitri’s cheek. The boar is as dirty as he is bloodied, and the colors run together to make a sickly dark brown.

Dimitri has been staring at him this whole time, transfixed by Seiros only knows what. At Felix’s words he flinches, though surely it’s from the surprise of Felix speaking. He’s long grown accustomed to the nickname, and a part of Felix wonders if he enjoys it. “Felix?”

“Don’t get yourself covered in blood like this next time.”

“...what?”

“You heard me. If you end a battle all messy and bloody like that, it’s—” his mind falters; he searches for a word “—distracting.”

“It’s not my blood, not most of it—Mercedes healed me up quite efficiently. But I appreciate your concern. Coming from you it means a lot.”

“I _know_ it’s not yours, that makes it worse.”

He’ll never forget this moment: Dimitri bloodied with the aftermath of the battle. The way it makes him feel. The way it makes him _want_.

“I don’t think I follow.”

“What I mean is,” Felix says through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to be reminded of what kind of person you are.”

What he means is that the sight of blood on the face of someone lovely has _always_ made him feel certain things, ever since he was old enough to feel those things at all. It only bothers him because it’s _Dimitri_.

He will, of course, not say that.

“I’m not sure why I made you so upset this time,” Dimitri says, leaning in. So close—too close. Felix can smell him from here: blood, dirt, sweat. It awakens an urge deep inside of him, and then something snaps. It’s Dimitri’s damned size, his voice, his _stench_ that makes Felix do it. It’s his _facade_ , the facade that Felix desperately wants to break. It’s… it’s the thought of Dimitri needing, of him begging, of him _serving_.

It’s something like that, anyway. It’s so many things and Felix can’t put any of them into words.

It’s so easy—too easy—to lean his body against Dimitri’s, and Dimitri does nothing to resist. His breath is hot against Felix’s face, and Felix realizes with a start that he also smells of saghert and cream. Dimitri doesn’t actually feast on the blood of his enemies, of course, but the smell is annoying in its mundanity, and that makes Felix all the more inclined to continue. If Dimitri is to be a beast, he ought to embrace it fully, to act as nature intends for him and not go along with the professor’s lunchtime whims.

When Felix presses the palm of his hand into Dimitri’s groin, grinding it against his cock, Dimitri lets out a low moan. It’s something he’s imagined before, during nights when nothing seems to be able to satisfy him besides his least welcomed fantasies. But he’d conceived the sound as something between a whine and a snarl; instead, it’s the sweetest sound he’s heard in his life.

Dimitri covers his own mouth to stifle the sounds, and he mumbles something that sounds like _please_.

Felix manages to open Dimitri’s trousers after a bit of fumbling that he blames on the awkward positioning, with the both of them still seated on the dirty ground. Dimitri is half-hard already, and Felix lets out a snort at the sight of it.

“You really are a wild animal, huh?” Felix says, marveling his hardness, at the ease of it all. “Reacting to any little touch.”

Dimitri whispers something, ashamed.

“What was that, boar?”

“Only because it’s you,” Dimitri says, barely any louder. There’s a tremor in his voice, like he’s afraid to admit it.

An interesting development. One that Felix might like to explore. He’s never paid any mind to romance, but this—it’s not romance, not in the least. It’s the battle for dominance between two animals, one that Felix intends to win. He’s ready to savor the sight of Dimitri’s composure shattering.

Felix begins to stroke the boar’s quickly hardening member. The foreskin proves a pleasant slip and Dimitri soon begins to rut against Felix’s hand, gasping with each thrust.

Dimitri buries his head into the crook of Felix’s neck, mumbling more curses than Felix has ever heard leave his mouth in their lives. He’s not so princely now, undone so easily by a simple touch. He comes easily, quickly; shudders and moans even louder than before when he does.

The sound goes straight to Felix’s own cock, and he realizes with a start that he’s rock hard.

“Let me,” Dimitri mutters, still pressed against Felix. Though he hadn’t thought this far ahead, Felix can’t deny that the offer has an appeal. He’s already reduced the boar to his animal instincts—why not complete the job?

“Do it,” Felix says. “Pleasure me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Dimitri mumbles another curse, reaches for Felix’s pants. He fumbles with the fastening for a moment, clumsy fingers unable to complete the task quickly enough for Felix’s liking. Not that he’s much better; between Dimitri’s weight on him and the distraction of his own arousal, it’s no easy task for Felix to unfasten his belt and open his trousers even enough to pull out his own cock.

How much better might this feel, Felix wonders, if they had the chance to take more time? He might have slowly disrobed Dimitri, savored each minute of seeing the boar splayed before him, every bit of his pleasure carved by Felix’s hands.

And then Dimitri’s hand is on his cock and Felix doesn’t _care_ any longer, he just _wants_.

“Move!’ Felix hisses into Dimitri’s ear, and the boar obeys. He’s never needed anything more in his life than he’s needed Dimitri to make him come, and he thrusts into Dimitri’s hand like his life depends on it, like nothing else matters.

He thinks, fleetingly, that maybe nothing else matters more than Dimitri. And then he reaches his climax, bites down on Dimitri’s shoulder as the wave of pleasure washes across his body. The boar roars at the pressure, the pain—though it can’t hurt too much, not when it’s Dimitri.

Felix’s orgasm clears his head, and he pulls away from Dimitri as soon as he gets his bearings. He’d practically made his way into his lap at some point, and where he pulls away he’s sticky with Dimitri’s sweat. They make eye contact for a moment, and Felix spits—ostensibly to clear the taste of dirt and blood that he’s somehow gotten into his mouth, but he feels another surge of pleasure when Dimitri looks away, ashamed. Degraded.

“Get out of here,” Felix says. “I don’t want to look at you like this.”

Dimitri nods, then shakily rises to his feet. He makes no objections, merely walks away, like a creature with his tail tucked between his legs.

...

It’s soon after that when Felix realizes he’s in over his head.

At this time of day—five in the morning or so, far before anyone else is able to drag themselves out of bed—the training grounds are quiet. It’s a peace that’s barely befitting of this place made for the clash of weapons, but a peace Felix appreciates. It’s hard to be alone at Garreg Mach, where he’s obligated to spend every day among dozens of students, half of them trying, infuriatingly, to be his friends. He’s got too many of those already.

"Felix!" calls a voice, too cheerful for someone who is, like him, awake before the sun rises. He doesn't bother to turn around. There's no reason to when he's heard the same voice call his name thousands of times before. The boar's damned grunt is unmistakable, and now it seems louder than usual, echoing through the otherwise empty room.

When you ignore a wild animal, it goes away, but that isn't the case for this one; instead, Dimitri jogs up to him, a grin on his face befitting a prince. "Felix, did you hear me?" he asks as he reaches Felix.

"I heard you, and I'm busy. Or are you too much of a brute to notice when a man is training?" Felix gestures to the dummy beside him, half torn apart. He's making even shorter work of it than usual, using his newest iron sword instead of the training ones that the professor keeps begging him to use in the interest of taking slightly longer to shred their dummies to pieces.

"I thought even you understood the importance of keeping your skills sharp," Felix continues, but he sheaths his sword as he says it. Given what has recently transpired, he’s curious to find out why Dimitri is here. At the time the boar had tucked tail and run; why is he back now? Dimitri is like a stray dog, always coming back when he thinks he can get a bit of attention here and there from Felix, but he's a stray dog that can learn his place.

All said, Felix was able to dismiss him easily enough the other day.

Dimitri touches him with an unwelcome ease. Felix doesn’t _like_ casual contact, doesn’t see the point in such empty gestures of goodwill. He’s learned to put up with it from some of the others, but Dimitri seems to share his view—most of the time. Felix's breath hitches at that first brush of Dimitri’s fingers. There are layers of fabric between their skin, the boar's thick gloves and Felix's uniform providing what should be more than enough to keep the touch from holding any meaning. But now Felix shudders at the spark he feels when they make contact, like Dimitri's hand is fire and Felix is about to get burned.

It's not enough, he realizes. This isn't enough.

He thought he might be able to forget his lust after he found an outlet for it. Any sexual interest he might have in the boar must be based in Felix’s desire to conquer before he is conquered; nothing more, nothing less.

And yet the need has come back even stronger than before. He's touched himself three times to the memories of that one afternoon, each time fruitlessly hoping to quell the passion inside of him. It’s reached the point that he’d been late to class yesterday because he'd been busy in the restroom pleasuring himself to the memory of the boar’s hand wrapped around his cock, his breath hot on Felix's neck.

It's impossible to forget, and now that Dimitri is touching him again, innocently this time, Felix’s body wants _more_.

"Are you angry at me?" Dimitri asks, voice low. As if he's foolish enough to think that someone will hear them in this wide, empty room.

"It's not worth the effort to get angry," Felix replies.

"The other day, I... did something unplanned."

"Just forget about it!" Felix almost snarls, though the tone doesn't make Dimitri even flinch. He's well used to it, Felix knows; Dimitri is incapable of being afraid of him, and always has been. “I’d already blocked it from my mind until you had to go and dredge the memory back up.”

"I see. If that's the case, I'll speak of it no more."

If Felix didn't know any better he'd call Dimitri's tone remorseful, but he doubts that the boar has room in his heart for regret. Least of all regret for this. The other day he’d seemed to be enjoying himself well enough, based on his expressions, his sighs, his groans—why regret this new step in his relationship with Felix now?

His _relationship_. Felix hates to think of it, but their lives are forever entwined, and if Dimitri has his way their futures will be too.

Felix frowns, huffs. "Good. Then be on your way."

He does not think about how Dimitri bucked and moaned against him as he touched Dimitri's cock, does not think about how much lovelier the sound might be if Felix let him cum inside of him next time.

_Next time._

Felix realizes that he's beginning to get hard. He'd _enjoyed_ their tryst, desperately so; the boar had somehow brought him a greater pleasure than he'd ever been able to make himself feel, even though his touches were clumsy.

"If there's any way I can make it up to you—"

"There is," Felix interrupts him, tongue moving faster than his brain. He's got half a mind to tell the boar to grovel, to beg for forgiveness for being such a distraction. But there's something that would be a hundred times more satisfying than that, and if he’s so set on making him feel better, on making him feel _good_...

Dimitri is listening, holding onto every word. There’s a familiar look on his face, that same determined frown Felix recognizes from when he’s concentrating on an upcoming battle.

Felix takes a step forward, now close enough to take Dimitri's chin in his hand. Dimitri blinks, but accepts the touch, allows Felix to pull his face downward. Felix can feel Dimitri's breath against his lips now, and entertains the thought of crushing his own lips against Dimitri's, plunging his tongue into his mouth, leaving bite marks on his lip. Felix is holding a pain in his heart he can’t address; if Dimitri feels pain in his body, so be it.

But kisses, even the messiest and most painful, are for lovers. The boar does not _love_ , and so Felix does not love him, though he would look picturesque with his own blood dripping down his chin.

Instead, Felix slips his thumb between Dimitri's lips, gently at first. Experimentally. He's not sure what he expects to accomplish, but Dimitri accepts it graciously, takes it into his mouth more deeply. It’s stunning how soft the inside of his mouth is and how eager Dimitri is to take him in.

"What do you want?" Dimitri mumbles around his thumb, dazed but not objecting. "I'll do anything I can."

"Pleasure me," responds Felix. "It's your fault I'm like this now, forced to think about you making me come. So it's your responsibility to satisfy me." He pushes his thumb deeper still, and Dimitri groans around it, the sound going straight to Felix's cock. The boar chooses to do as Felix wishes with shocking ease, almost on instinct, and it’s impossible not to wonder how far he can be pushed.

Felix knows the training grounds well, knows that it will be at least an hour before anyone else arrives, plenty of time for him to enjoy Dimitri. And if someone else sees them, so be it; perhaps their classmates won't think so highly of the boar prince if they see how pathetic—and how beautiful—he looks covered in Felix's seed.

Even as he tosses his sword to the ground next to him, Felix is already imagining it: his cock down Dimitri's throat, pleasure on Dimitri's face as Felix takes and takes. He guides Dimitri over to the wall, and Dimitri follows, obedient. When Dimitri presses his body against him, Felix can feel Dimitri’s heart beating wildly, and he feels a fluttering in his own chest when he realizes that Dimitri is just as eager as he is.

He wants the boar to be excited because that means he can use him as he pleases and watch him enjoy it, Felix tells himself. No other reason.

"May I?" Dimitri asks.

"Tell me what you want, boar," Felix says.

Dimitri flushes deeper still at the command. "May I kiss you?"

"Only on your knees," Felix says, putting his hands on Dimitri's shoulders and pushing down, an empty gesture when Dimitri is both taller and broader than him. Kissing is the one pleasure he will deny the boar.

Dimitri dutifully drops to the ground, looking up at Felix with a mix of lust and awe, as if he can't believe he's here, that Felix _told_ him to be here. Felix's breath hitches as Dimitri runs his hands down his thighs, achingly slow and deliberate in his movements. When did the boar learn to be so careful? Felix wants to tell him to hurry it up, to not make him wait, but somehow he can't deny Dimitri this, can't deny _himself_ this.

When Dimitri finally, _finally_ pulls Felix's pants down, Felix is fully hard, almost achingly so. Felix has half a mind to get it over with, to satisfy his own needs as quickly as possible, but Dimitri has one hand on his hip, pinning him against the wall with ease. It reminds Felix anew that he's only like this because he wants to be, that he could easily bend Felix over and take his own pleasure from him if he so chose.

Instead, Dimitri wraps his other hand around Felix's cock, lightly thumbing the tip. Even that makes a shudder go through Felix, head to toe.

"You're going to fall over," Dimitri says, voice tinged with concern. Felix hates it when people worry about him like that, and hates it even more that he's _right_. Dimitri knows Felix's knees are weak, and can almost certainly feel his body sway from the way he’s stroking him, achingly slow. "Come down here with me."

Felix mutters a curse, but not an objection, and Dimitri removes his hands from him just long enough for Felix to slide down, against the wall, to rest on the floor. His pants are still open, his cock still out, but now he and Dimitri are on the same level once again. The boar looks good from this angle, too: flushed and eager and still on his knees in front of Felix.

Dimitri pushes him to the ground, and Felix makes a tiny grunt of objection that quickly turns into a moan as Dimitri wraps his lips around the tip of his cock. He's still holding Felix firmly in place, preventing him from thrusting as he so desperately wants to, but at least now Felix can get some relief, can take the pleasure he so desperately needs.

Dimitri can't _possibly_ have done this before—surely only Felix, unique in his bond with the boar, would agree to it. So the motions of his tongue are clumsy, but he takes Felix enthusiastically, slides his mouth down his dick as far as he can manage, and that’s more than enough.

When Dimitri pulls back just so, Felix has a chance to slip his thumb into his mouth, open him up just a bit more. He accepts it willingly, almost enthusiastically.

Will the boar always be this obedient, so accepting of Felix’s whims? Or, Felix, wonders, will next time take more persuasion? He realizes with a start that he might not mind that.

A shiver runs down Felix's spine as one of Dimitri's hands moves to his ass with a gentleness he didn't think the boar was capable of. Maybe it would be the opposite—Dimitri would realize that he enjoys this, and decide to come to Felix again in order to satisfy his own twisted desires to serve him, to worship his cock. It would be ironic if this was what he enjoyed: a brutal warrior offering such sweet administrations of affection.

Dimitri drags his mouth down Felix's cock, taking it off with a wet pop. Saliva drips out of his mouth and down his chin and his eyes are almost glazed over with lust. The knowledge that Felix made Dimitri like this, ready to do whatever it takes to satisfy him, is intoxicating. And if the boar gets off on this, Felix will happily take advantage of it.

Those strong hands are still on Felix's ass even as Dimitri shifts his attention from Felix's cock back to his thighs, planting a line of teasing kisses on them. Felix shivers when Dimitri’s teeth scrape him there, threaten to make him bleed. Dimitri doesn’t follow through, but of course he _could_. It's infuriating, and yet Felix can't ask him to stop; he needs so badly for Dimitri to make him come.

Dimitri removes one hand from his ass, tears the glove off with his teeth and then does the same with the other. Though he only returns one hand to its former position, Felix shivers at the new contact, now skin against skin. The other hand goes to his mouth and he slips two fingers inside, closing his eyes as they breach his lips.

He’s trying to put on a show for him, Felix realizes, and it’s working. The boar isn’t delicate about it, the way he is when he eats. Instead, he swirls his tongue around the fingers to dampen them, saliva dripping from them when he pulls out with a loud, slick sound.

Felix’s pants have pooled around his ankles already, and as Felix watches Dimitri’s movements he kicks the pants aside. It’s obvious what’s on Dimitri’s mind, and though he’d never lower himself enough to ask for it, it pleases Felix deeply that the boar is ready and willing nonetheless.

Thoroughly dampened, Dimitri’s fingers find their way back to Felix's ass. Felix gasps as Dimitri traces his hole . It’s not that he hasn’t done this to himself—sometimes it’s the only thing that can satisfy him—but with Dimitri it feels so _right_ in a way that his own fingers never have.

Carefully, slowly, the tip of one of those fingers penetrates Felix, and Felix almost screams at the sensation. It’s sharp, intense—but not unpleasant in the least. Dimitri is able to enter him with ease, and Felix clenches around him, welcoming the sensation.

Beads of sweat run down Felix’s face, onto his chest and then the ground as Dimitri carefully prods at his hole with a second finger. Felix wills himself to relax, to accept Dimitri’s gentle administration. He suspects that’s the only way he’ll be able to get the boar to continue, and that drives him mad. He’s no gentle thing, not a fork or a sewing needle that the boar has to handle with care so he won’t break.

"Is this all right?" Dimitri asks, though surely he's not so foolish that he doesn’t realize it's too late to ask when he's already knuckle-deep.

"Don't you _dare_ stop, boar," Felix replies between gasps. Though Dimitri is doing all of the work, Felix’s breath is as heavy as it gets during a hard training session.

Dimitri’s eyes widen at Felix’s words, and he’s frozen for a moment, a mixture of confusion and awe on his face. Then Felix kicks him, as hard as he can manage—not very— and Dimitri comes to his senses, nods and continues.

He pulls his fingers out with an aching slowness, draws out the anticipation before he thrusts them back in, deeper this time. They must be all the way in now, the way he’s filling Felix up. Felix longs for even more, for Dimitri to hurry it up already and _fuck_ him. Wants to tell him in so many words, humiliating as that would be—and then Dimitri begins to rock his fingers inside of him, filling Felix with white-hot pleasure.

Dimitri’s movements are eager, though not precise, and that draws out the pleasure, makes Felix feel like he’s almost getting what he wants—but not quite. He needs it to be deeper, faster, _more_ before he can come. And so it feels like hours before he reaches his climax, though it can’t possibly be that long.

He comes as Dimitri curls his fingers inside of him to hit a place deep within him that Felix barely knew existed. Pleasure washes over his body, yet he doesn’t spill any seed, even as he bucks against Dimitri’s fingers through the orgasm. Dimitri, Felix realizes, doesn’t notice. Or he does, and doesn’t wish to stop even as Felix groans with each motion, overwhelmed with stimulation. He might tell the boar to cease—he's too weak to push him off, but surely Dimitri will stop on request. But he doesn't, and so Dimitri continues.

Overstimulated and exhausted as he is from Dimitri's continued ministrations, Felix can barely manage a mumble—a “what are you _doing_?”—when Dimitri dives between his legs. Had he the energy, he would laugh at the boar, at his willingness to degrade himself like this to satisfy Felix further; instead, he shudders as Dimitri traces his hole with his tongue.

The sun is far higher in the sky than it had been when they began, but Felix can't bring himself to care about whether someone might walk in. He'd been fine with the thought before, had imagined a voyeur seeing Dimitri at _his_ mercy. Now, Felix realizes, it's _him_ that is the picture of degeneracy, lying on his back with the boar, still fully clothed, lavishing attention on his ass.

The thought is a thrill rather than a deterrent, and Felix wearily moves to touch his own cock. He _aches_ to come again, and properly this time, or he might _die_. Somehow Dimitri notices, swats his hand away and replaces it with his own. He touches Felix with firm, sharp strokes, his grip just shy of painful. The sensation is just what Felix needed and he shudders, Dimitri still fucking him with his tongue through his second climax.

As he comes down from that high, Felix notices that Dimitri has finally pulled away, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Feel good?" the boar asks.

" _Fuck you_ ," Felix replies hoarsely. It's hard for Felix to deny how thoroughly he's been pleasured, but that doesn't mean he's going to admit it out loud.

Dimitri scratches his chin, takes a moment to stretch his jaw. At a loss for words now, Felix assumes. “It certainly sounded like you enjoyed it,” he finally says.

"Clean me up, boar. It's the least you can do," Felix says instead of responding.

It feels like Felix's heart skips a beat when Dimitri leans in again, about to lap Felix's come from his chest. "Use a rag instead," he mutters, not sure if he’d be able to stand the sight of anything else. It’s too early for a third go.

"Oh, but..."

Felix manages to reach for his pants, discarded long ago, and produces a handkerchief from them, tossing it to Dimitri. Dutifully, Dimitri begins to clean up the mess—it's Felix's mess, really, but it's the boar's _fault_ —looking almost docile as he wipes up what Felix has spilled. Yet again, Felix wonders how long this can continue, how many times he can take his pleasure from Dimitri. Wonders if he might let Dimitri once again take his own pleasure from him.

He's so lost in thought that he barely notices when Dimitri is done. The boar tosses the rag to the side and mutters something offhand about cleaning it and bringing it back. Before Felix is able to process that they’ve finished, that now he should ask Dimitri to help him up and shoo him away, Dimitri positions himself above him, looking down.

Face to face.

"You were wonderful. Thank you, Felix," Dimitri says as he pulls away, his hands still on either side of Felix. Felix could leave, if he really tried. Dimitri isn't pinning him down, but he is moving closer still, and their faces are almost touching.

“Don’t you dare,” says Felix. “I know where your tongue has been.”

It seems to take a moment before realization reaches him. “I wasn’t—!”

Before Felix can order Dimitri to move he pulls away, hastily rises to his feet. Felix isn’t sure how to feel about that—glad that Dimitri didn’t attempt to escalate things, he supposes, but somehow disappointed. As if he had _wanted_ the boar’s disgusting, dirty mouth on his.

Felix pushes himself into a sitting position, crosses his arms. As much as he’d like to pull himself up to his full height, his whole body feels like jelly, and he might have to off himself if he did shameful so embarrassing as _stumble_ in front of Dimitri after he’d fucked him. Dimitiri might think that he was _good_ , that Felix _liked_ it as anything other than a way to get off.

“Go away,” he grumbles.

He looks like he’s about to reply, but instead, Dimitri makes haste, once again running away like he was told. Good.

Felix tries not to think about how empty he feels now, staring at Dimitri’s broad back as he leaves. Loathe as he is to admit it, his body feels nearly useless now, drained of the energy he’d woken up with and intended to funnel into his training. Dimitri’s clumsy tongue made him come harder than he ever could manage with his own hands.

By the by he manages to pull himself to his feet, wobbling only a bit. Retrieves his pants, pulls them painstakingly over sweaty legs. Picks up his long-forgotten sword from the ground. Now that he’s been thoroughly fucked, his head is clear enough that he can reason with himself. By now some of his classmates might be awake, perhaps hastily getting breakfast from the dining hall before heading over to train. He has to leave before they get here; has to disappear before someone sees him like this.

Felix needs a glass of water and a nap, desperately. He manages to somehow drag himself away, back to the seclusion of his room, though walking feels odd now. His body has the distinct sensation of being _empty_. He’s about to fall apart—literally _and_ figuratively, it seems—and the only thing to do is sleep it off.

Caspar asks at dinner where he was this morning, he’d thought he might like to spar. Felix leaves him wondering.

...

Dimitri, though his nature is feral, has always enjoyed the facade of _diplomacy_ , of _dignity_. Of _talking about it_ , whatever “it” is.

Felix? He’s a man of actions, not words. So he avoids the boar as much as he can muster—a challenge, considering they have classes together every goddamn day, and there’ll be lectures and missions on the weekends. He’s not much for sitting still and playing nice on the best of days, and now it’s killing him, this—this _obsession_ with Dimitri, his hands and his tongue and the beautiful sounds he makes when he’s at Felix’s mercy.

He glares daggers into the back of Dimitri’s head during every lecture. The tension must be palpable, since Dimitri glances at him what feels like every five minutes, eyes pleading for—something. Validation, presumably. Fine then, let him beg. It will be good for him.

After a week of this—he counted each day—Felix finally snaps.

Ever the devoted student, Dimitri has taken up the sword alongside his spear. It isn’t the first time; most children in Faerghus are expected to learn it as their first weapon. But Dimitri took to the lance quickly, so his swordwork has fallen to the wayside. Now, the professor wants him to continue his studies. Something about his lance skills being more than adequate, but he ought to be prepared for all sorts of situations. Dimitri explained it over dinner one day, rambling on about axes’ unique prowess against lances while Felix was trying to not listen despite Ingrid forcing him to sit with them and “play nice”.

Details aside, right now Dimitri is practicing his swordsmanship. Repeating the motion of drawing the blade, then sheathing it over and over in their empty classroom.

“What are you _doing_?” Felix asks. He had fully intended to never speak to the boar again, but his movements are—well, they’re _bad_. Too slow, too clumsy. He’ll never best an enemy this way, let alone manage to make the first move.

Dimitri jumps at his voice—Felix had come upon him from behind, without making his presence known—but recovers quickly. “Felix… you’re talking to me,” he says, eyes meeting Felix’s. He’s smiling, somehow; is the boar too much of a fool to feel _shame_ for the way he allowed himself to be at Felix’s mercy?

“Of course I’m talking to you,” says Felix, crossing his arms across his chest. “I always talk to you.”

“You haven’t for a week, not after—” Dimitri stops, suddenly very interested in the floor, the banners on the walls, anything but Felix. “Not after we made love,” he mumbles.

Felix frowns at Dimitri’s word choice. “You mean when you fucked me?”

“Ah. Well.”

“Are you still thinking about that?” continues Felix, who has been thinking about it nonstop for a week. “Meanwhile, I’ve already forgotten.”

“I was just thinking we ought to talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about? You got your fill of me, didn’t you?”

Dimitri doesn’t agree with him, but he also doesn’t deny it. Good enough for Felix. It’s a thin rope he’s balancing on, trying to maintain an air of indifference but desperately wanting Dimitri to stay. To come back again and again to pleasure him.

Instead, Dimitri is silent.

“Anyway, your swordwork is sloppy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me—give it here.”

Obediently, Dimitri hands him the silver sword. It’s heavier than Felix’s favored blades, not ideal for the type of quick footwork he prefers. But it suits Dimitri—strong as he is, the weight of a weapon will do little to impact his ability to fight. “Too expensive for training,” Felix mutters.

“The professor said I might as well practice with the weapons I’d be using in combat. And that money was no object.”

“They spoil you. Like everyone else.”

“Do you want me to talk to them? I’m sure we could get you something new.”

“I have no need for an intricate blade, but maybe you do. Something flashy to impress your enemies, because your ability to draw it certainly won’t.”

“Am I that bad?” Dimitri asks, almost apologetically. “It hasn’t been my weapon of choice for a while, but I had hoped some ability remained from when we were younger.”

“...you’re strong enough that you can get away with a bit of ungainliness,” Felix admits. Yet he knows Dimitri can improve. It would be an embarrassment to fight by his side if he was at anything but his best. “But your sword deserves better than that. Watch me.”

The blade isn’t sized for his own scabbard, but that hardly matters. Felix mimes sheathing it, then taking it out; what’s important is the crispness of the movement. A single, definitive instance when the sword goes from an ornament on one’s side to a deadly weapon. Something that the boar should know a lot about.

He repeats the motion three times, for emphasis. By the end, Dimitri is transfixed—by Felix’s precision or by something else, he can’t say.

“Get it, Boar?” Felix asks.

“I think so. The way you do it is more practiced. More elegant.”

Felix snorts. “It’s an instrument of death. Nothing elegant about it.”

“It can both,” Dimitri says. He takes his sword back from Felix and their hands brush. He’ll get calluses if he does this without gloves, Felix notes—not that it makes any difference to him. “Like you.”

Since they were young, Felix has kept a mental catalog of the most interesting things Dimitri has said to him, as if that will help him take Dimitri apart and put him back together. He doesn’t digify the comment with a response, but he files it away in his mind.

He’s not called Felix “elegant” before. It’s not the worst thing.

“You try it,” Felix says. “Don’t embarrass us on the battlefield. The sword _or_ me.”

Dimitri repeats Felix’s motions, though placing the sword in his own scabbard complicates it somewhat. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he sheathes and removes, again and again.

“Better,” Felix says with a nod, after several of Dimitri’s tries. “We can move on.”

There’s an unsaid question on Dimitri’s face as he continues, one Felix doesn’t feel like addressing. It’s probably _why are you doing this?_ or _what does this all mean?_ or something else that Felix does not want to discuss. Now is not the time. Maybe there never will be a time.

Dimitri watches Felix’s face carefully as he mimes a parlay, an attack. But there’s no enemy to resist him, and Felix realizes that this is a major flaw in their setup when Dimitri swings too hard, pulls back too far. The sword nicks his face and he instinctively lets it drop to the ground, his hand flying to the wound.

Wounds above the neck bleed heavily. Felix knows this well, and he’s seen it dozens of times—on himself, on his allies. On the battlefield, as his enemies breathed their last breath, the nicks and cuts on their faces incidental. They all died from something else. Dimitri’s injury is less than nothing.

All the same, Felix’s stomach flips at the sight.

It feels like time has stopped as he watches the blood slowly drip from Dimitri’s wound. The cut could be fixed in seconds—he’s being forced to study _magic_ , so _Felix_ could fix it in seconds—but the sight is too bewitching to think of that. Even in the safe, stale environment of the classroom, the boar can’t help but mar his porcelain face, sully it with the same red he takes from his enemies.

Dimitri, with his vague sense of self-preservation, reaches into his pockets for a handkerchief and a vulnerary.

“Give it to me,” Felix says when he’s had a moment to take in the situation and time begins to move at a normal pace. Dimitri obediently hands him the items, even though the blood is already reaching his chin, his lips. Dripping down his neck.

Crisp white becomes red the moment Felix presses the handkerchief to the cut. He sets the vulnerary on whichever bench is closest. There’s no point in applying it now, while the blood is still dripping. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears as the color spreads.

“Messy as a beast,” Felix mutters, but there’s no edge in it. Harsh words work well enough as a shield when he backs them up with actions, but there’s nothing about tending to a wound that isn’t, at its core, _tender_.

“Thank you,” says the boar.

It feels like an eternity, the time the two of them spend standing in silence. Fortunately, Felix is not forced to deal with an eternity of eye contact along with it—Dimitri’s eyes have once again dropped to the floor, like a pup who knows he’s done wrong and has displeased his master. The smell of iron, somehow obscene in this moment, fills his nostrils.

Dimitri is so damned _tall_ that Felix’s arm is beginning to ache before he realizes that he ought to pull away, that there’s been enough time for the wound to begin to clot. The handkerchief sticks to Dimitri’s skin just slightly as Felix pulls it away, drags it down Dimitri’s chin, with a motion that mirrors the way the blood had dripped down not long ago. It does little, of course, to clear the mess.

“Disgusting,” says Felix, transfixed.

And then he fists the edges of Dimitri’s collar to jerk him down, their mouths meeting in an instant. It’s as rough around the edges as everything else in their many years together, and Dimitri makes a sound that’s either pleasure or protest as their teeth hit each other.

Felix pulls away for the air he hadn’t expected to need—he’s _thought_ about this before, damn him, but never this particular detail—and Dimitri’s hands fly to Felix’s face, cup his cheeks. It must take an impressive amount of restraint; his touch is gentle, his fingers stroking Felix’s cheeks with almost a reverence.

Before Felix can process it all, before he can memorize the taste of Dimitri’s mouth, the look of shock on his face, Dimitri’s leaning in to kiss him again, softer this time.

He tastes of salt and iron, of nosebleeds and paper cuts, of a hard-won victory after Felix has fought tooth and nail and gotten _someone’s_ blood in his mouth. And somehow, Dimitri feels like home, like Felix has always belonged here, kept safely under his thumb, and Felix has just taken a while to notice.

It’s infuriating how right this feels, Dimitri’s lips on his and the scent of his body, sweat and fabric and skin and _blood_ flooding Felix’s senses and making him feel like he’s liable to faint. But he holds strong, his knuckles going white from his grip on Dimitri’s shirt.

Felix pulls Dimitri’s lower lip between both of his own, eliciting a low moan when he sucks on it. But such gentle administrations feel wrong: beasts cannot be tamed properly with gentleness and affection. So when the boar opens his eager mouth wider, gives Felix better accesses, Felix bites down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, to make Dimitri taste even more like the way he ought to.

Felix’s cock _aches_ from not being touched, and he hates himself for it. Dimitri has not once attempted to turn the tables, to take his own pleasure from Felix the same way Felix does to him, and it’s driving him mad. Sparring, Felix can understand. He’d be more than happy to fight the boar, to be forced to admit defeat when Dimitri inevitably came out on top. To be claimed as the boar’s war prize. But Dimitri is treating him with _care_ , like a _lover_. At this rate Felix might come untouched, and have to spend the rest of his life living with the shame that he enjoyed having the boar _kiss_ him.

He pulls away from Dimitri, just enough to speak. “If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly,” he hisses. Close as he is, he can practically _feel_ the way Dimitri gulps at his words. The boar’s arousal, as ever, is palpable.

“Do you mean—”

“You should _know_ ,” says Felix, each word said with an edge, like they’re meant to be knives in the boar’s side.

“Felix… I _don’t_ ,” Dimitri says. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what to call this. I won’t understand until you tell me.”

Felix finally loosens his grip, like a cat retracting its claws. There’s something about Dimitri’s brand of civil discourse that is—not off putting, necessarily. But it breaks the mood they’ve created, replaces raw lust with something that is _far_ harder to handle. “Ugh, never mind. I knew you’d be like this.”

Dimitri frowns. “You’re still mad.”

His feelings are far beyond anger, so far beyond that they’ve somehow become an all-consuming obsession. A passion that’s not good for him. After every encounter, Felix is left raw, open, and wanting. Like the wound on Dimitri’s cheeks that still needs more care: the bleeding has stopped but it still looks tender.

“Yes,” says Felix. “I’m still mad.”

It’s simpler this way, to lock his doors when Dimitri tries to open them.


End file.
